permanent headache
prompt: concussion (alt no.4)
whumpee: river cartwright
fandon: slow horses/slough house
hi this is a little thing set sorta between book/season 4 and 5. hope you like!
River wakes up and immediately knows that today is going to be a rough one.
It’s his own fault, so he can’t be too upset about it. He’d been at the pub til late last night, far too late for a worknight, but there you have it. He shouldn’t have gone out at all, probably, but he’d visited the OB that day, and it’d been rough.
It’s rough a lot, lately.
Pretty soon, he thinks, his grandfather won’t ever recognize him. They’re sitting at about 75% of the time right now, and yesterday had been especially bad.
So he’d gone out, gotten drunk, wallowed in his misery.
Sue him.
And now it’s the morning, and more misery awaits.
He rolls out of bed, stands up, and the headache spikes. He presses his palms to his eyes as though he can physically push the pain back into place. This does nothing, of course, but at least it feels like he’s doing something.
A quick shower has him feeling marginally more human, but the headache doesn’t diminish.
Not that it ever really goes away. It’s always there, either at the back of his mind or the very front. Ever since Duffy and the grenade–the one that’d blown up on him, not the one his father had almost killed him with.
He’d thought it was a normal concussion. He’d had a couple before, had known what they felt like. And it had felt exactly the same.
Except that the headache had never quite gone away. It doesn’t respond to pain medication, either. It’s always just there.
It’s been over a year now, and he’s used to it, really. Most days he barely even notices it.
But then there are days like today. He’s made it worse himself, but he’s allowed that, he thinks. It’s not like he’s going to stop living, stop making bad choices, just because of a little lingering concussion symptom.
The drive to work is uneventful, and the day, as all days, is boring. He stares at a spreadsheet he’s assembling–unpaid library fines in the greater London area–and occasionally halfheartedly types in some data. His head is throbbing and his eyes hurt. He downs several cups of tea, which do nothing much for either problem, and wishes he could take a nap.
Not that there’s anywhere here where he could even have a proper lie-down. There’s his desk (uncomfortable, not a lie-down but a slump), the floor (high likelihood of being kicked or stepped on, ostensibly on accident), or Lamb’s couch (potential for contracting some kind of hitherto unknown disease, or lying upon the remains of a takeout meal from several weeks ago).
Around lunchtime, Louisa pokes her head into his office. “Fancy a stroll?” she asks.
River silently gets up and follows her out into the pale, cool sunshine.
They’ve been hanging out a lot, recently. He thinks he can safely say that they’re good friends now–in fact, if he’s honest, Louisa’s the best friend he’s got. These little lunchtime walks, often punctuated by a shared meal, have become the highlights of his days. Half the time, they don’t even talk, and it’s comfortable. More comfortable than River would’ve ever thought he’d feel.
“You alright?” Louisa asks, sitting across from him in a dingy pizza place, one of their favorite spots. “You seem, I dunno, tense.”
River nods. He’s fine, honestly. It’s not a big deal. It’s never a big deal.
“Is it your head?”
Louisa knows about his problem. He’d told her a few months ago, shortly after he’d moved the OB to Sunny Times Homes. It had been the morning after an even worse night than last, and he’d been slumped over at his desk, pushing his forehead against the wood in yet another failed attempt to shove the pain away. She’d asked what was wrong, and just like that, he’d told her.
Most of the time, she doesn’t mention it. It’s just a part of his life, now, and she gets that. But she’s perceptive, can always tell when it’s worse. Sometimes River doesn’t like it. Sometimes, like today, he does.
“Yeah. Rough night.”
“Wanna come to mine after work?”
“Yeah, sure.”
They eat their pizza in companionable silence. River lets his mind wander, thinks of Louisa’s couch and a quiet movie and simple comfort.
The rest of the day passes uneventfully. River gets very little work done, electing to turn the brightness all the way down on his monitor and stare into space. Lamb, mercifully, leaves him alone, and he only flinches at the banging of the door once.
By the time they arrive at Louisa’s place, one behind the other, the sun is just beginning to set. River’s head still throbs more than usual, and he uses his key to manually lock his car rather than having to hear the beep of the electronic lock.
Inside, they slip into what has become a bit of a routine. Shoes at the door, coats double-stacked on a hook, lights low. They gather snacks from the kitchen and then make their way to the couch. Louisa turns on the TV, chooses a movie. Something old, black and white, River’s never seen it before. Not that he’ll see much of it now.
This next bit is still a little foreign to the both of them. But it’s nice, really nice, and it helps River when it feels like nothing else can.
Lousia sits, and he lies down–well, sort of, the couch isn’t long enough for him to properly stretch out, but it’s no problem at all to curl up, makes him feel rather safe, actually–and he lies his head in her lap. Louisa’s fingers work into his hair, rubbing at his aching head. The pain doesn’t go away, exactly, but his focus shifts, and he relaxes.
“Night,” Louisa whispers, when he’s on the edge of sleep. River exhales heavily, contentedly, and lets sleep take him.
thanks for reading!!! hope you liked it <33
